That Hand to Hold
by TheGratefulDove
Summary: Hermione finds Draco in the bathroom during beginning of sixth year, not Harry. But in the middle of a war falling in love isn't so easy, thankfully fate seems to have found a way to overcome the hurt, the abuse, and the past so that our favorite couple can find that hand to hold. Eventual fic with a baby and full dramione love story.


Author's Note: I make no claim to any of the characters or material owned by JK Rowling I will let that stand throughout the rest of the piece. All original material is my own. Fair warning there will be some mature scenes and language but I will let you know when it gets intense the first chapter does feature some self-harm. Let me know what you think suggestions and edits are always good. I anticipate this to be a relatively long work.

You know there's something about the way tiles all seem to fit together that makes me jealous. Even as I lean up against the grimy sink and add just a little bit more pressure to the tile counter top stretching out in either direction, worn with age, greased with what can only be years of built up dust, and filled with a multitude of cracks spider webbing their way out until they suddenly dive off the edge towards the floor; each tile has its place, held there, with others like it. Even when it's cracked, the tiles nearby force it to stay together, even though pieces might be a little damaged it's still there. I wish all of me was still there. I can try and deny it but I know, I know when he burned that mark into my flesh that a part of me broke apart, shattered, split like Mother's favorite teacup that Blaise and I managed to dislodge from the table as we ran through Mother's sun room all those years ago. I didn't have any other tiles to hold me together. It was just me. All me. There are days where I feel as delicate as that old teacup. How can He expect me to do it? How am I supposed to make up for my Father's mistakes? I'm not him. I have the silver hair, the storm grey eyes, the height, the lean muscular build… but when it all comes down to it I am not my Father.

My storm grey eyes lift up to meet the mirror and as much as I try to fight back and be strong my face contracts painfully. The months of stress suddenly wash over like a heavy cloud of smoke meant to smother out any possibilities of breathing. Small gasping hiccups compact my stomach and wring my breath from my lungs, burning my throat on the way out. My face feels too hot, hot with shame, hot with panic, as my sight blurs until the tears spill over racing down my face. I scrub them away with the corner of my sweater sleeve letting my head drop onto my forearms.

I need a way out. I couldn't kill the little muggle prostitute the snatchers had found for the night of my initiation ceremony let alone kill Albus Dumbledore. The vanishing cabinet idea was never going to work. I wasn't smart enough. I wasn't ever going to be as good as her, the golden girl, Hermione Granger. She was top in the class and me a distant second. Even if I did get the cabinet to work no way could I hide death eaters inside the castle. I couldn't even get the cursed rum to the right office or that stupid necklace to Dumbledore let alone get a party of Lord Voldemort's most loyal followers into the castle and lead them to the Headmaster with the intent to murder him. My right hand slowly unclamps itself from the side of the sink and reaches towards the pocket of my robes drawing out my wand. I know I shouldn't. What feels good now only adds to the pain and guilt latter but I need it so bad. I need this release. I push my sleeve back determined to do something make this pain go away. Forcefully pushing the tip of my wand directly above that horrible mark taking up residence on my forearm I will the skin to open for the blood to trickle down towards my wrist in some sort of sickening stream and cover that mark if only for a brief moment. Funny for all the times I finish behind the Gryffindor Princess; nonverbal magic is easy for me. I suppose that's how it works though. I'm always good enough to be near the top just am never the first choice. Just once I wonder what it feels like to be someone's first choice. My arm tenses making the neat slice in my flesh widen until I start to shake and the neat line changes becoming jagged just like the cracks in the tiles expect my cracks aren't thing strands but rather deep red tracks of blood as I lose control of the emotions. Slowly those hiccups start to even out until they morph into sobs.

Merlin, look at yourself Draco. Crying in the bloody bathroom, a girl's bathroom no less. No longer the lean, muscular, God of Slytherin with the six pack abs and v-line sculpted by hours on the quidditch pitch, instead painfully thin, bones poking out all over the place. Your normal creamy skin a sickly white, grey eyes that used to burn with passion dull and flat. Your wrist a mangled work of art too painful to display. Too much more of this and you might have just spent a nice long stay in Azkaban yourself. At least my robes covered this mess. No one really paid any mind to me now that my family has been ousted as being at the top of heap, my robes are loose, my sleeves long hiding my forearms, people just assume I look sick because I'm depressed that I'm no longer the leader of the pack. As though I care, I never have. It was always Father telling me to do this. Do that. Uphold the family name. Be the perfect little pureblood heir. The last thing I need is another reason for father to push me to act before I waste away and Mother worrying herself more than she already is. At this rate she should just dig herself an early grave.

I shivered thinking about that, about losing them, especially Mother. I may fight with my Father; he may not have always been the loving Dad everyone else had. Hell, he might have been downright cruel at times but he was my Father. Even when things got really bad Mother was always there picking up the pieces spoiling me with attention Father thought would ruin me. She was like the force holding our family together. Things weren't perfect but a Malfoy never turns his back one those who share his blood even if by now that blood is well on its way towards running down my fingertips.

Just then the heavy bathroom door swings open and my neck snaps up to look in the mirror again and there over my shoulder is one third of the trio who have made the last six years of my life a living hell. Frizzy hair, buck teeth, and overstuffed book bag and all, Hermione Granger. Except her hair isn't as frizzy as it used to be instead it has evened out into a downright sexy wild mess. The kind that all the girls of Slytherin try so hard to achieve so they can have that hot "I just had a roll in between the sheets and although my hair is a mess it still looks sleek and shiny like something in a hair potion ad" look. And her teeth honestly aren't so beaver like anymore. Regardless her book bag is still stuffed to the brim and she is looking at me. Normally her eyes are burning and ready to through back a quick witted retort to my cruelty but instead they have deepened into a rich caramel filled not with pity but rather determination.

"Leave." I choke it out. She can't see me like this. No one is supposed to see me like this except for Moaning Myrtle but she's a ghost no one cares about anyway.

"Why?" Her soft voice bounces off the walls of the room barely above a whisper, honestly a miracle to be heard above my pathetic sobs, yet sounding so loud considering the circumstances,

My knees buckle beneath my weight as I slide to the ground my arm drawing up to be cradled against my chest as though that might somehow stem off the bleeding, my wand slipping from my bony fingers to clatter against the floor at my side.

"Because I asked you to you stupid bitch" I lash out and instantly feel some semblance of regret. Why should I care if a mudblood sees me like this? After all, no one cares about me anymore. In just a few short weeks Lord Voldemort will have offed me because I can't complete my task. Who cares if she runs to tell Weasel and Potty all about poor crybaby Draco? Everyone already knows I'm done for anyway.

Slowly soft footsteps drift across the room, the bathroom door whooshing closed behind her. I curl in on myself in order to put as much distance between us as possible. It seems like no one ever taught her how to respect personal space because in just a few short moments the leather book bag is tossed to the floor beside me and a soft hand is laid on my back. I flinch away ready for the push, the shove, something, anything that will give away her intentions to use this opportunity to her advantage. Instead, she joins me and suddenly I can't hold back anymore. The years of anxiety, of shame, of worry, of trying to be something I'm not are falling away. The weight is lifting up off my chest to the point I can pick my head up again and make eye contact.

A gasp works its way out between the slowly dying sobs. Her eyes don't shift away and look at me as though I'm some bit of dog shit someone accidentally stepped in. They just see me. What used to be a slow winding down of my sobs grinds to halt and my tongue darts out to lick my lips bracing myself for the moment to end. For this girl to realize that I am not some stray kitten to be nursed back to health but rather that I am the same stupid boy who made her life miserable, taunted her for her looks, ridiculed her for her blood status, and constantly was out to get her friends for the last six years. It doesn't come. Time stretches on and on as though we have been locked in the position for ages until suddenly she is completely beside me pulling toward her until I'm held in her arms and our chests pushed together. Her's soft and warm against mine pulling closer like two magnets, our breathing accelerating until it falls off the edge and we are just floating in the moment. Sharing the comfort, the stability, and most importantly the companionship until slowly we touch back down to earth.

By now the blood flow has ebbed and the tears have dried on my face. I pull away expecting both of us to forget that this ever happened, to collect my wand, and my books, and to drag myself down to the Slytherin dormitory and fall into bed and sleep until I convince myself that all of this is a dream. Except I know that I won't be able to. The fresh scar will join the others and remind me that this happened her warm scent will cling to my robes and suggest that something happened no matter how hard I forget. Just as I start to push myself back into a standing position she grabs my sleeve and looks up at me with those big doe eyes again.

"Draco. Wait." That's it. That's all she says but I freeze. "Draco come with me, I know a place we can be alone." Realizing her words may be misconstrued her cheeks flush cherry." I… I didn't mean like," she stutters out, "like that. Just a place for us to talk if you would like."

I nod slowly. How in Merlin does she want to be with me a second longer? Did she hit her head? Is that why she is being nice to me? I forget all my doubts as soon as that small smile breaks across her face and she jumps up beside me heaving her book bag onto her shoulder, wordlessly I take it. I may be exhausted and have no idea her intentions but I can be a gentleman. She looks up at me gratefully and I flash perhaps the briefest upturning of the edges of my mouth possible and slowly walk towards the door until her small hand grabs me and holds me in place.

"Wait let me check and see if the coast is clear. You can't be seen coming out of a girl's bathroom. Let alone with me." She hisses and I nod once more thankful that for once I am in the company of someone who can handle reasonable thought. Pansy may have been nice to mess with last year when I was still firmly held in my Father's palms but when it comes to intelligent thought beyond how to get a boy, Pansy didn't have much going on up there.

I wait patiently behind her as her head pokes out before quickly tugging me along into the shadows along the corridor before slowly advancing silently until we take a left, a right, another left, left, and pace three times before what appears to be a rather ugly painting. At this point I begin to contemplate if this has all been some sort of mistake. Maybe Miss Goody Goody Two Shoes has a bit more Slytherin in her than expected and is leading me on some sort of wild goose chase and any minute the whole of Gryffindor will jump out laughing at the poor Slytherin who fell for such a simple minded first year trick.

Just as I am about to turn away and use the very same shadows to sneak back to the small safe haven I call my bed a great door materializes and is thrown open by the small girl in front of me to reveal a dimly light room. I follow behind her amazed.

The room is filled with soft warm light from a fire place. Two leather arm chairs wait along with a plate of tea cookies. The room is warm and smells of sugar.

"What is this?" I ask my eyes scanning the room letting Hermione's book bag slide to the floor.

Her brow furrows as she glances back at me. "You are in your sixth year and you have never been in the room of requirement? Didn't you and a bunch of slytherins help Umbridge find this place last year?"

"I thought that was just an old class room. I was always told this room was myth, something made up to add a bit of fun to the castle. I never put two and two together last year. Sorry about that by the way. She really was an awful woman. Entirely too much pink." I answer back and am rewarded with a burst of laughter that sounds as though a peal of bells has rung out.

"Agreed. And no obviously it is not a myth, after all we are here aren't we?" Her clear voice replies, louder now that we have a more secure meeting place.

I smile back at her a real smile as I make my way towards to plush leather armchairs. It feels strange. I haven't smiled like this in months not since Mother and I could enjoy a singular cup of tea together. Sinking down into the chair I reach out for a tea cookie as Hermione moves to join me. We stay like this for a while nibbling tea cookies each one of our attention directed towards the fire watching it flicker. This room is nothing like dungeons I am accustomed to. The dungeons fires burn a strange green and are never really warm whereas this fire fills the room with delicious heat warming me down to my bones and casting light throughout the small cozy space. Again we are lost in time slowly drifting with each other through our own thoughts. At this point time seems to have erased. I left the dining hall halfway through dinner to find solitude in the girl's bathroom but after that no other moments in time have been distinct. We could have been here ten minutes, half an hour, three hours, all would have made sense to me yet I could keep track of none.

Eventually my eyes started to droop forward signaling that it must have been at least a decent amount of time although I had no desire to leave. I wanted to stay here sleep here, in this warm safe place distanced from the outside world, from my peers, from expectations, and most importantly distanced form Lord Voldemort. The room seemed to sense what I wanted, after all it was the room of requirement and supplied a bed large enough for two with plush sheets and pillows promising a sleep that was free of nightmares . Something I had not had the privilege of in months. I looked over at her and remarkably her thoughts mirrored mine. We didn't need words we simply rose from our chairs and followed each other to the bed, stripping our shoes off first, then our robes, then our clothes until each one of us stood before each other and try as I might I looked at her. Saw her toned stomach, shapely limbs, and pale pink bra and panties set tempting me to want to take a closer look at her chest. My cheeks flush and my eyes darted back toward her eyes. She made no comment simply raised an eyebrow and parted her lips as though she was interested. I grimaced apologetically. This was not my place after the kindness she had offered me I would not revert back to my old ways. That wasn't me. I didn't want to take advantage of the situation as odd as that may sound after all I wasn't worthy of her. It was no wonder Victor Krum had stuck around so long. Once she was out of those boring school clothes she was in shape and had everything a young man who wanted a classy girl had, curves in all the right places yet no desire to really show them off like some kind of slag. Here I was disgusting, sickly, a bag of bones. That thought made me swallow. I didn't have to be perfect like my Father desperately wanted me to be right now all I wanted was for some bit of clothing to cover up in so that I didn't have to be some humiliated right now and for the burning in my wrist to be soothed.

Instantly a set of pajamas for each of us appeared. Mine a simply pair of soft pants and cotton t-shirt and hers a long t-shirt sort of night gown along with a bottle of what appeared to be scar potion. We dressed quickly avoiding eye contact. As I reached for the small bottle of potion her hand darted out to grasp mine and gentle pried the bottle away opening it and turning my palm up. I winced as her small fingers smeared the cream across my cuts, across the dark mark. Oh how I wish I could melt into the floor. Now she really will run away I will be all alone again but once more she stayed. Her fingers kept sweeping back and forth, back and forth, dissolving the smeared blood and sealing the cut until it slowly faded into a delicate pink line along with the others. Her hand withdrew and she pulled back the covers sliding into bed. I scrambled in behind her unsure of what to do but at that point I no longer cared and I slowly let my eyes close, my long lashes brushing my cheeks as I drifted off listening to the sound of Hermione Granger's soft snores knowing that there would be hell to pay if my Father ever found out and that this would be the last nail in my coffin when it came time for Voldemort to justify the demise of a pureblood heir but right then I couldn't give a fuck.


End file.
